Justice in the Isles
by kasviel
Summary: The estranged uncle of Elsa and Anna is charged with returning Prince Hans back to his home in the Southern Isles to face justice. Will the prince's punishment really be so severe, or will Prince Edvard of Arendelle allow some mercy out of a strange affection he begins to feel for the errant Hans? Contains spanking and m/m romance (yaoi, slash).
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

After an unexpected and particularly cold winter, spring had come again to the Kingdom of Arendelle. Prince Edvard of Arendelle watched the seasons change in the blink of an eye from his castle, a lonely fortress built into the side of the Scandinavian Mountains. Even down below in the towns of the vale over which he governed, people were celebrating. He had not seen his nieces Elsa and Anna since Elsa's coronation, and he could count on his fingers the number of times he had seen them before that happy day. Nonetheless, it warmed his heart to know the girls had reconciled. Battle was always ugly, but battle between family was a hideous thing to behold.

"I beg your pardon, Your Highness."

Prince Edvard turned from the window. He was a very tall man, straight-backed and fit. He shared the coloring and fine linear features of his deceased elder brother and his niece Elsa, though his eyes were a lighter blue. He wore his platinum blond hair long enough to graze his shoulders, pushed back from a strong, high brow. There was a sadness about the man, as if the forlorn wistfulness of the mountains had seeped into his bones like the mists that rose here when the frost melted. He wore very simple clothing, though they were of fine quality, all in white given that he was not wearing a jacket. He looked ghostly, so fair and swathed in white. In the sunlight, his light blue eyes were nearly colorless.

A wizened old man came into Edvard's bed chamber. "This came for you a moment past."

The spindly man seemed to take the rolled letter from his long, flowing white beard, but Edvard supposed there was a pocket behind it somewhere. He held out the letter and Edvard took it. He was surprised to see the Arendelle royal crest, a crocus, stamped into the teal sealing wax. He broke the seal and read the message inked into the parchment.

"Trouble, my lord?" the elderly master of letters for the castle inquired. He had served Edvard since Edvard had been a child, having chosen to come out here to the mountains rather than remain at the Arendelle royal palace with Edvard's brother.

"No," Edvard said, eyebrows raised. He tapped the parchment on his palm lightly. "Not at all. It would appear my niece the Queen requires my service."

The old man blinked. "Your … service, my lord?"

"My service." Edvard shrugged. "A mystery, in other words, Bjørn. I can't see how I would be able to help my Queen, but I will, as ever, do anything that I can to do so. Queen Elsa is a marvel, gifted as no one has been in many, many years. Arendelle is poised to enter a new Golden Age. Perhaps I should be less … absent."

"You've had your reasons for your distance, my lord," old Bjørn reminded him. "I'm quite _certain_ that Queen Elsa would understand those reasons."

Edvard smiled sadly. "She would … or she would _not_. I am to blame for much of what has befallen her, I am afraid."

"You did nothing to-"

"Yes, I did nothing," Edvard said bitterly. "I did nothing while my brother hid her away, taught her to fear her gift. I do not blame him. He was frightened, frightened because of the things that _I_ put him through. If this-" He held up the letter. "-means that I could start to make amends to Queen Elsa, then it is a blessing."

"Indeed, my lord. I shall give instructions to have you packed and an entourage prepared. I wish you luck."

"Thank you, Bjørn," Edvard said, smiling a rare smile that lit his face. His teeth were blunt, white, very straight, and there was a hint of boyishness still in his features. "You shall not be accompanying me?"

"I am afraid not," Bjørn chuckled ruefully. "At my age, my lord, it would not be prudent."

"Very well," Edvard said, patting the old man's shoulder. "I'll leave as soon as possible, and write you when I can. I'll leave the castle and the vale to your care."

"As you say, my lord."

* * *

The capitol city of Arendelle was in the midst of a jubilee when Prince Edvard arrived. Though he had never been much loved by the citizens of the kingdom, nor even seen by them more often than not, they heralded the arrival of the Queen's uncle as if he were an old friend. Edvard rode in on the back of a dappled silver stallion, waving graciously to the people, greeting lords and ladies that had also come in to join the festivities.

In the castle, he was greeted formally by Queen Elsa and Princess Anna. They briefly spoke of the winter Elsa had brought, and the Queen had the grace to blush at the trouble she had caused. Anna was effervescent, all the resilience of youth evident in her fast recovery from the traumas she had endured. Edvard was strongly reminded of his own youth, and felt invigorated just by being in their presence.

Edvard was settled into his rooms then, and given time to prepare himself for the evening's feast. He took his time in the bath, washing the dust off from the long, arduous journey down from the mountains. He felt chagrined by how difficult he had found the trip, and regretted having wasted so many years shrouded up in his mountainside castle. Self-conscious, he groomed fastidiously, and dressed in resplendent clothing: silver-threaded white jacket, stark white trousers, tall brown leather boots, and a cloak made from cloth-of-silver. He plated his hair back and tied it into a queue, crowning his head with his prince's crown: white gold spun into a semblance of the mountains above his castle, each peak tipped with a perfect, fiery ruby. When the light hit the crown, it looked like a sun was dawning above each mountain peak.

Edvard was distracted by the feast for the better part of the evening. People he had not seen in years caught him up on their lives as if they had only just seen each other the past day. It was a beautiful thing to see, peace after a battle, warmth after a winter.

Later, Elsa found her uncle. They retreated to the gardens, which were all in full bloom. Elsa wore a new gown, soft and green as newly budding leaves and beaded with glass beads that shimmered like dew. For once, her hair had been set loose, and it fell to her waist in waves of platinum, little spring flowers threaded into the locks. Despite the glow of spring, Edvard thought there was still something of frost in his niece, deep in her blue eyes and the silvery undertone of her hair that was so reminiscent of snow.

"It is all quite overwhelming," Elsa said, echoing her uncle's thoughts. "I think that you might understand that, Uncle Edvard?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Edvard agreed. "I fear I've been too long from the capitol. For that, my dear, I am deeply regretful."

Elsa had a small, secretive smile on her lips, though her expression did not betray what she might be thinking or feeling. It was the look of a true queen, Edvard thought, the mastery of being aloof not by choice but by necessity. When had she grown so much? When had all trace of the girl been dashed away by this powerful young woman?

"It is very cold in the mountains, they say," Elsa asked, looking up at her uncle with her head cocked. "Is that true?"

"It is, Your Grace."

"You must still be chilled, then, uncle," Elsa said. She paused. "You're still wearing your gloves."

Edvard skipped a breath. "Your Grace-"

"I thought much about you during my darker days," Elsa said gently. "I've hardly seen you at all in my life, true, but I still do not remember ever seeing you without your gloves. And when my father discovered my … gift, he was not very surprised. He had much fear, but no surprise."

"Sorcery has always been met with fear, Your Grace," Edvard said cautiously. "Even when at its lightest, it can burn."

"Or freeze," Elsa said. "Uncle Edvard … take off your gloves."

"Your Grace-"

"Please." Elsa drew a deep breath, stealing herself. "I … I command it."

He could see how much it pained the girl to order her own uncle about. He had to admire the fact that she was able to stamp down her personal feelings. He owed her the truth, after all, and if this was also a part of making amends, then so be it. He removed his silken white gloves.

Elsa lifted her hand to his, their palms nearly touching. Snowflakes glistened between their hands, and the air was misted by cold. She drew her hand away, but he kept the small storm going in the air. The snowflakes whirled as if they were in a globe, and then he took his hand away, and they melted before reaching the grass.

Elsa turned her face away from him. She was quiet for a very long moment. The spring sun hid behind a cloud, and the garden chilled. Edvard felt dizzy with the thick fragrance of flowers and earth. He missed the indifferent coolness of the mountains.

"Why did you never tell me, uncle?" Elsa whispered. She looked up at him, and her eyes were thankfully free of anger. She merely looked confused, a little hurt. "You could have helped me. You could have taught me."

"I had nothing to teach, Your Grace." Edvard exhaled, and took her hands in his own. "Queen Elsa, my niece, daughter of mine own brother …. Forgive me."

Elsa's eyes widened as her uncle swept down to his knees. He bowed his head over her small white hands, so fragile in his own larger ones.

"I was always very weak in the ways of sorcery, Elsa," Edvard said. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. "I was nothing like you. Yet I once sought to strengthen whatever powers fate had given me, and not for good. I am ashamed to confess that I once sought to usurp your father's throne."

"My father?" Elsa asked in shock. "What- _Why_?"

"I thought him wanton, not dedicated enough … unworthy." Edvard bowed his head briefly again, then met her eyes directly. "He was much like your sister, Anna, and I was foolish enough to think his innocence and trust marks of weakness. I was jealous of the way that the people loved him, and they were so cold to me. I was a foolish and spiteful younger sibling. _I_ was the man that was unworthy."

"I've never heard of this feud," Elsa said, trying not to believe it. "There was no battle, no … no war … "

"Of course, I never turned against my brother," Edvard said. "I studied sorcery and magic. I strengthened my powers. Your father and I argued most viciously. We came to blows. I nearly killed him when I used my powers in the fight."

Elsa swallowed, her chest heaving with her breaths. "The way I … I almost killed Anna … " She took her hands from his, shaking her head. "No, it … it _can't_ be. You were never close to father, but I never dreamed … "

Edvard stood. "Did you ever dream that you could hurt Anna?"

Elsa did not turn away. She nodded, considering the truth of his words.

"Your Grace, I will accept whatever fate you choose for me," Edvard said. "If you cannot trust me, if you want me banished or … anything else … then, I will respect that."

"I still trust you, Uncle Edvard," Elsa said. "How could I not? We're more alike than I've ever known. I would keep you here, I would have you here more, get to know you more … Yet I have a duty I would ask of you first."

"Anything, Your Grace."

"Thank you, Uncle Edvard," Elsa said gratefully. "As to my task for you, well … I find myself in need of a trusted person to oversee the transfer of a certain prisoner of the kingdom's."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

It was not a very long way by sea to the Southern Isles from Arendelle, but to Hans it felt like an eternity. He brooded in the prison cell of the ship, unable to sleep and refusing to eat. Though he was uncomfortable from the chains binding him to the wall, he was more bothered by the insult than the injury. The arrogance of Arendelle, to keep him filthy and chained like some common prisoner! He may be thirteenth in line for the throne, but he was still a prince of the Southern Isles! They had no right to treat him so basely!

The door to the prison hold opened. Hans blinked and then shut his eyes briefly to adjust to the sudden flash of daylight. He heard footsteps thumping on the wooden steps, a slow, deliberate walk, then the distinctly ordered steps of soldiers.

Hans opened his eyes, the pops of stars from the unexpected light clearing. A man stood before him, the most colorless man that Hans had ever seen. He was a very handsome man, strong and broad-shouldered, tall, but there was nothing of pigment to him. His hair was so pale blond as to be almost white, his skin was porcelain, and his eyes were such a light blue that they were nearly colorless. He even wore white, everything white save for the gold trim of his jacket. Hans had intended to complain to the first person he saw, but he was momentarily distracted by the oddness of this pale apparition.

Edvard had also paused to assess. He had never seen Hans, having spent most of the voyage to the Southern Isles in his cabin while Hans had been locked in the hold before he had arrived. The would-be usurper was smaller than he had expected, a slim, handsome youth not far past boyhood. There was fire in his green eyes, though, Edvard could see that much.

"Prince Hans," Edvard greeted him, bowing slightly, as if they were merely at court. "I am Prince Edvard of Arendelle, now restored to my former position as Ambassador to the Southern Isles, by order of Queen Elsa. I have been entrusted to see you safely home, and our journey is near its end. I should like to give you the chance to wash and eat before you're brought home. Can I trust you with accommodations more befitting your status?"

"It's about time someone remembered my _status_ ," Hans said bitterly. "What am I going to do? Kill your entire guard and _swim_ back to Arendelle? Just get these damned chains off me!"

Prince Edvard said nothing.

"All _right_ ," Hans grumbled. "I won't cause any trouble. You have my word of honor."

"That is worth somewhat less than nothing, but I will give you the chance," Edvard said. He nodded to the guards, and stepped back. "Unchain him."

Hans was escorted up to the deck of the ship. He could see his homeland on the horizon, and dread filled him. For a moment, he did consider fighting his way off of the ship and swimming somewhere, anywhere but the Southern Isles. He was surrounded by drawn swords, however, and he knew there was no chance of escaping alive. He stomped across the ship sullenly, following Prince Edvard.

Edvard brought the youth to the royal cabin, and they entered alone. Hans looked around the cabin, sharp green eyes searching for some way to escape. There were windows, but they were too small to go out of. He knew the guards would be standing right outside the cabin's door.

 _I can take him, though,_ Hans thought, eyeing the back of Edvard's neck. _I could do that, at least._

Hans set the thought aside for the moment. A bath had been drawn up for him behind a privacy screen, and fresh clothing in his size was laid out on a chair. He went behind the screen, stripped off his battered outfit, and went about cleaning up.

Hans felt better once he was groomed. His mind cleared of the pure blind rage he had been feeling in the dark cell, and he was able to contemplate revenge more properly. By the time he stepped around the screen, Edvard had a table set with food and drink. He sat down across the small table from Edvard. The two princes considered one another for a moment.

"I spent a lot of time in the Southern Isles when I was younger," Edvard said conversationally. He removed his white gloves and set to carving his food with neat, quick strokes. "Your father, King Adam, and I were quite close. Is he well?"

"How would I know?" Hans muttered. He was famished, but he was drowning his anxiety with wine before touching the food. "My parents forgot all about me once I was five. I left at fifteen to find a legacy elsewhere, and no one even noticed."

"They'll notice you now."

The thought made Hans drink a long swallow of wine.

"I remember that King Adam was quite strict, and you people of the Isles have a fondness for the rod," Edvard said. "How is it that you've come to be such a terribly ill-mannered boy?"

"I'm no boy!" Hans snapped. He could no longer keep from the food, and said around a mouthful, "I am past eighteen, a man grown!"

"Only a boy would feel the need to say such a thing," chuckled Edvard. He took a sip of wine himself. "My niece Anna warned me that you are quite a good actor. Is that why your father has not disciplined you enough? Did you have him fooled?"

"It's easy to fool someone when they aren't looking at you."

"Lost in the shuffle, were you?" Edvard asked. "It happens sometimes with families. I cannot believe that King Adam doesn't love you. My old friend has ever cared for his family above all else."

"Maybe my father is as good an actor as I am, then," Hans scowled. "He collects heirs the way a dog collects fleas, and speaking of dogs, my mother whelps like a prized bi-"

"Prince Hans, you forget yourself," Edvard cut him off sternly.

Hans looked shocked, and a little confused. He frowned, flushing with anger, and went back to viciously devouring his food. Edvard was vexed by the reaction. Had _no one_ disciplined this boy?

"My father loves his children by degrees," Hans explained finally. "His firstborn, Adrian, will be the king, and his second, Gunnar, is the captain of the royal guard. His third, fourth, and fifth sons are all members of the royal council. His sixth and seventh sons are captains of their own ships in our naval fleet. Two more are soldiers who will be generals one day. Two are scholars. The second-youngest, my brother Jakob, must have seen the uselessness of being at the tail end of the family, and so he became a man of religion. Do you see how our usefulness degrades down the line? Do you think my father doesn't notice?"

"It is only natural that a king would spend more time with his eldest children if they were involved in the kingdom," Edvard reasoned. "Your father has a duty, and your brothers are old enough to share that duty. You would have grown into your talents and worked with your father someday, had you been patient and proven yourself worthy."

"Would have," Hans echoed. He pushed food around with his fork, and then looked across the table at Edvard. "It is your word against mine. Old friend of my father's or not, do you really believe that he'll execute his son on your say-so?"

"Execute?" Edvard asked, stunned. "Is that what you think?"

"Isn't that why you've come to escort me home yourself?" Hans asked. His hand trembled a bit, and he set down his fork. "To demand that justice be done?"

"No one wants you executed, Hans," Edvard assured him. "I have come as Ambassador to the Isles to ensure that you are officially banished from Arendelle, but Queen Elsa has no other demands. We will leave your punishment to your father and your brothers."

Hans tightened his lips into a grimace. _That might be worse._

"Your father is stern, but he loves you, regardless of what you think," Edvard said. "You will be banished from Arendelle, possibly confined to the castle for a time, and given a nasty spanking, but I doubt he would do worse than that."

Hans blushed at his condescending comfort. His rage welled up inside of him again, and he pounded a fist on the table.

"Am I supposed to be grateful for that?" he snarled. "How _dare_ you! How dare you bring me to my home as a prisoner! How dare you sit me down here and patronize me and treat me like a child!"

"How dare _I_?" Edvard asked flatly. "You came to my kingdom and threatened my family, tried to usurp the throne from my nieces and myself, and you think that _I_ am treating _you_ poorly?"

Hans had had enough of the simpering Arendelle royals and their haughty outrage. He stood and threw the rest of his wine into the man's face. It seeped into his hair, ascot, and shirt like blood. At least the red gave the man a little color, Hans observed.

Edvard methodically wiped the liquid from his face, hair, and clothing as best he could with a napkin. He stood, facing the rebellious lad for a moment in silence. Then, moving so quickly that Hans had no time to react, he drew his hand back and slapped him full across the face. The blow cracked on the air like the sound of a whip, and Hans nearly fell to the floor. He stumbled, gripping the chair to regain his balance. He was furious when he lifted his face, a hand instinctively clutching his burning cheek, but Edvard did not intend to give him time to retaliate. He took the lad by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the cabin wall.

For the first time, Hans felt a streak of real fear. He struggled, but he could not break Edvard's grasp on his shirt. The pale man's face was hard, the wine streaks like blood, framed by wisps of that whitish hair. Hans could see the shape of muscles through his shirt, thick planes as hard and smooth as ice. _Everyone in Arendelle has ice in their veins,_ Hans thought. He was reminded of that giant ice monster that he had fought.

"You are a prince of the Isles, but you are also a prisoner of Arendelle," Edvard told him. "Despite your behavior, I have treated you with every courtesy requisite of your birth. Will you act the way a prince should, or do I have to throw you back into chains like some low beast?"

"The chains were better company than you!" Hans growled. "Go ahead! Put me back! Bring me to my father bound and beaten! Or all the better, why not kill me? Go on! You must want to! Do it! Kill me!"

"Why would I want to kill you, lad?" Edvard asked wearily. He released Hans, though he did not take his eyes off him. "Do you actually believe I would want to bring my friend home his son in a coffin? What sort of man do you think I am?"

Hans straightened his shirt, walking a few inches back from Edvard. He rubbed his cheek angrily. "The sort that hates me."

"I don't hate you, boy," Edvard said. "I hate the things that you did, but I do not hate you."

Hans looked at him uncertainly, his hand dropping from his smarting cheek.

"Why not?" he asked heatedly. "I would have had your family dead. I would have had _you_ killed, had you challenged my claim to the throne."

"Do you think that I was never young and stupid with ambition?" Edvard asked. He was untying his ascot in front of a mirror. "I, too, am a younger brother: a secondary, superfluous heir."

Hans had been trying to edge his way back to the table, to fetch the large carving knife. This made him pause. Was the older man actually claiming to sympathize with him?

"I once plotted to usurp my older brother's throne," Edvard admitted. He found it easier to face his story since having told it to Elsa. He threw the ruined white ascot aside and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Agdar was poised to be king, and I did not like how much everyone loved him. The people loved him in a way they had never loved me, as did his friends, and I thought even our parents loved him most. I told myself that it was not fair that our fates were determined by birth. I told myself that I would make a better king, that I was smarter, stronger, more able. I told myself a thousand lies back then."

Hans had the knife in hand, and he hid it behind his back. He began to edge back across the cabin, towards Edvard. If he could keep Edvard distracted by conversation, he thought he would be able to take him by surprise.

"And were you?" he asked. "More able?"

"In some ways."

Edvard had seen what Hans was doing in the mirror. He finished removing his shirt, then turned around. Hans had the knife raised in his hand. Edvard threw out his hands and all the ferocity of winter poured from them. Ice encircled Hans's legs, from foot to knee. He jerked, but could not take another step. Fear lit his large green eyes, and the knife dropped from his hand.

"No! Please, no!"

"Oh, do relax," Edvard said. "I don't intend to harm you, lad."

Edvard waved a hand almost lazily, and the ice dissolved into a puddle. Hans stepped out of it, shivering. The temperature in the cabin had dropped so low that their breaths could be seen in the air, but it began to rise again now. Hans did not dare even look at the knife again. He circled around Edvard widely and sat on a chair hugging warmth back into his arms.

"You're a freak," he said accusingly. He looked Edvard up and down. Without his shirt on, the man looked more robust despite his pallor, and his body was indeed taut with muscle. "Just like your niece."

"I am nowhere near as strong as Her Grace, but I am similarly gifted," Edvard said. "Magic is somewhat rarer these days than it was, but it has always been woven into the fabric of Arendelle. I grew up isolated by my gift, always an outsider. I was jealous of my brother Agdar, and so I plotted to overthrow his claim to the throne. I never wished him harm, but I thought that if I showed the realm my power, they would follow me, and love me the way they loved him. So, I traveled the world, seeking out wizards and witches, sorcerers and shamans, in every land. I learned to control my powers, and strengthen them."

Hans was interested in the story, despite himself. Edvard was younger than his father, though still old enough to have been Hans's father, and his face was unlined and smooth. Hans could picture him at his own age, nearly invisible in the snow he could conjure up, those striking eyes of his blazing with the white heat of ambition.

"But what happened?" Hans asked, sounding disappointed. "You didn't take the kingdom, obviously. Why did you give it up?"

"Fate conspired against me, thankfully," Edvard said. "Your father had pledged me his support, did you know? I would have had all the strength of your kingdom's formidable navy at my command. But then your father was married, and Adrian was born. Seeing his newborn child made your father really consider the fallout of war. He begged me to return home and reconsider my plans, to think of my family.

"So, I returned to Arendelle. I spent the holidays with my family. I wanted Agdar to give me a reason to hate him, to justify my plans. I provoked him, and we argued. For the first time since we were small children, we came to blows. I used my powers against him, and I nearly killed him. After that, I could never bring myself to think on moving against him again. I was horrified of what I had spent a lifetime plotting, and so I left the capitol for the mountains. I wear those gloves as a reminder of the value of restraint."

Hans was quiet, thinking on all this. He watched the prince dress in a fresh shirt and ascot. He wanted to hate him. He touched his cheek, still red from the slap, and tried to hate him. All he felt was a grudging respect for the man slowly forming in his heart.

"You could have had everything that I'll never have," Hans said. "How could you throw it all away?"

"It was never mine to take," Edvard said. "Not all who are born to power have a right to it."

"Anyone that is strong enough to rule has a right to it!" Hans declared. "Everyone else will obey, or die."

"It's ironic that you still believe that when you're only alive at the Queen's mercy," Edvard said. "What kind of Queen would my niece have been if she had killed you? It would have been justified, surely. But she would have cost your father a son. She would have given your mother the grief of losing her youngest child. She would have brought war down on Arendelle and the Southern Isles. So tell me, Hans, would killing you have made Elsa a stronger queen, or simply a crueler one?"

Hans opened his mouth to argue, but there was nothing he could say to that. Edvard had finished dressing. He came over and sat on the chair beside Hans's.

"My father never told me any of this," Hans said.

"King Adam is not too proud of the memory, I imagine," Edvard said. "Perhaps it was not my place to tell you. I only wanted you to see that your misguided ambitions are less unique than you thought, and your sins are not yet past redemption."

His sympathy seemed to be completely genuine. Hans did not quite know what to do with this fact. No one had ever truly understood him before. People saw him the way he wanted them to see him: as a charming prince, a dutiful son, a loyal brother. No one had ever truly seen _him_ before.

"How can you possibly say that?" Hans asked irritably. "I would have killed your unnatural freak of a niece in cold blood. I seduced her gullible sap of a sister. I would have taken your kingdom for my own. You're weak and sentimental and old enough to regret your plans, but I don't regret mine. I don't think that I _have_ any sins to be redeemed, Edvard."

Hans had expected, perhaps even hoped for, another slap for this. Instead, he was shocked when Edvard put his hand on one of his own. The touch was casual, but oddly intimate. His family never reached out to him. He had spent his short adult life thus far romancing princesses around the world, but he had never felt one bit of affection for them. He stared at the man's pale hand dully, feeling inexplicably miserable.

"You will learn better," Edvard said, "and I hope for your sake that it is not too late for you when you do. It was never the same between my brother and I after that fight, and now he is dead. There is nothing worse than being left with more regrets than memories."

"All I regret is not killing those stupid girls when I had the chance," Hans said angrily.

Edvard sighed and stood.

"We will be landing shortly."

He squeezed the youth's shoulder briefly, but did not say anything more to him. Hans was grateful that the old fool had finally shut up. _His hand was warm,_ he thought suddenly. _I thought it would be cold, but it wasn't._

Hans clenched his fists, and did not allow himself to think on Prince Edvard any further.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"It's time."

Prince Hans felt his stomach tie itself into knots. He wanted to scream, to run, to fight, to do anything that a man might do to feel strong. Instead, he nodded, and meekly followed the guards out of his bedroom. He felt ludicrous in his royal clothing, so cleaned and dressed up only to be brought low before the entire kingdom.

King Adam had gone nearly as pale as Prince Edvard when he had been given an account of his son's crimes. Hans had lost all of his defiance in the royal court that day, as the eyes of his entire family watched him confess. He had managed to keep his voice steady and his head held high while he did it, but his knees had felt ready to collapse. He did not feel like a man returning from a failed conquest, but a naughty boy presented for punishment.

Now he was on his way to the first part of that punishment. He was marched under guard down to the royal court, which was open to the kingdom today. At the back of the immense hall, every dirty sort of peasant was crowded inside, hoping to catch a glimpse of the prince's disgrace. He hated them, hated them almost as much as the highborn lords and ladies that had gathered in the boxes above the court to point and laugh and stare at the spectacle. Hans walked with his head held up, though he was shaking on the inside. He could feel all their eyes on him, crawling over him in anticipation.

He passed Prince Edvard. Damn him! Must Arendelle be here to witness his shame as well? Edvard still had that sorrowful, sympathetic look in his disturbing eyes, and it nearly broke Hans. It was all he could do to walk past him without turning and attempting to tear him apart with his bare hands.

King Adam and Queen Evelina were in their respective thrones. His twelve brothers were present, six on each side of the thrones. A wooden frame had been set at the fot of the dais where the thrones sat. Hans felt a lump form in his throat at the sight of it.

It had been agreed that the kingdom should not be made aware of the extent of their prince's actions against Arendelle, lest anyone unreasonably excitable decide to support Hans and spread anti-Arendelle sentiment. The punishment was announced in detail, though its cause was described only as "the prince's crimes against Arendelle".

Too quickly, it was time. Hans grimaced and approached the wooden frame. Two guards followed. They offered help, but he climbed onto the thing alone. It was shaped like an armless bench, the top padded, but it was higher than any seat. Hans fit over it far too well, his upper torso laying across the top just so, while his lower torso hung over the back. He heard barely-stifled murmurs of laughter and amusement at the sight of his buttocks sticking out over the slight curve of the back of the bench. His face went bright red, and he lowered it. The marble palace floor looked up at him indifferently, pale white as Edvard's skin.

 _Edvard …_

Hans glanced out of the corner of his eye towards the prince of Arendelle. The man was watching with interest as the guards lifted the tail of Hans's coat and lowered his trousers to his ankles. Hans distracted himself from the cool air on his very exposed skin by thinking awful things about Edvard and wishing him ill.

Edvard could see the hatred in the youth's green eyes, and he knew that he was watching him. He did not look away. It never hurt to look, after all. What he saw was well worth the boy's ire. The lad was slim, but his bottom was plump enough to be rounded. His thighs were strong, and Edvard could see a tempting hint of what lay between them. He looked very young, with his auburn hair falling over his forehead and his face glowing with the blush of humiliation.

 _He is very cute. I suppose that is what Anna saw in him,_ Edvard thought. He did not dwell long on the fact that he shared his niece's taste in suitors. He looked around the court, and realized that he was not the only one looking with interest at the poor lad's royal buttocks.

Prince Adrian, heir to the crown, was the first to punish his younger brother. It had been decided that the princes would punish him in turn, six today and then six two days hence. King Adam could not bring himself to strike his youngest son, but it would look suspect if the family did not show solidarity in their support of Arendelle.

Adrian was a very handsome man, tall and elegant in stature. There was a nervousness about him that detracted from his regal appearance, however. He seemed very reluctant to hurt his brother. He did not speak to Hans at all, only gave him a fast series of spanks. He used his open palm, though they had been advised to bring an implement. There were murmurs of disappointment in both the high- and lowborn audiences.

Hans stared fixedly at the floor while his bottom was smacked. He hated Adrian more than he ever had before, which was saying a lot given that he had occasionally contemplated murdering his firstborn brother. _To use his hand of all things! As if I were a newborn babe! Adrian, you soft, stupid, weak fool! Do you think this is mercy? Damn you!_

Hans was so hot with fury that he barely felt the sting of the spanks. He had begged his father not to have him spanked on the bare bottom like a child, but in this kingdom of the Southern Isles, even grown men and women were often allowed to take their punishments on the buttocks. Royals were seldom punished, but when they were, it was never more than a spanking if the crimes did not warrant death. King Adam refused to have Hans flogged bloody, and Prince Edvard had reiterated Arendelle's disinterest in having Hans executed. Horrified at the idea of being publicly spanked, Hans had tried to have his punishment made secret. Again, King Adam refused, saying that there could be absolutely no doubts that the Isles were sorry for affronting Arendelle so horribly.

The second-eldest son, Gunnar, was next. He was of a size with Edvard, but thicker in muscle than even that prince. Being the Captain of the Royal Guard, he was a severe, battle-hardened man. Hans did not look back. He did not want to know what Gunnar had brought to punish him with, though he would find out soon enough.

It was a riding crop, Hans knew that the moment the hateful thing cracked fire into his backside. Gunnar often used his beloved crop to snap at his men if they were lagging. He snapped it again now, and a second stripe of fire grazed his brother's vulnerable flesh. Not one for mercy, Gunnar whipped Hans a third time, fourth, on and on in a fast, relentless rhythm.

Hans was gasping by the time Gunnar finished with him. His bottom was alight with hot, stinging pain now. When his third brother whacked a paddle across the entirety of it, he cried out. It was too much, too cruel, too humiliating. He moved to get up, but the two guards were instantly at his sides to hold him down. He cried out in consternation, as the paddle swung through the air with a soft rush of air to smack him again.

 _So, he's broken already,_ Edvard observed. He smiled pityingly at the struggling youth, gratified but sympathetic. _Just a boy after all, Hans._

"Aow! Ow! No! No, please!" Hans cried out, kicking and fighting against the guards. He looked up the dais, at his parents. "Please stop! Please!"

King Adam swallowed visibly, and set his mouth into a thin line. Queen Evelina lowered her eyes to her hands. Edvard knew that they could not end it without losing face. Despite what Hans thought, more often than not a ruler could not do anything they pleased.

The brother paddling Hans had blanched, though he did not stop. He did not give Hans as many whacks as Gunnar had, however, just enough to seem sincere. Hans hung limply over the wooden frame, sniffling and shaking. The guards held an arm each, keeping him firmly in place.

The fourth brother was indifferent to the lad's suffering. Hans knew that Anders had once had plans to marry Elsa of Arendelle, and that he was doubtless furious that Hans had caused such strife between the kingdoms. _'How could any princess of Arendelle trust a man of the Isles now?'_ each stroke of his cane seemed to say. _'You've ruined it for us all!'_

Hans renewed his struggle, though there was no way to wriggle out of the reach of the thin, searing cane. He did not know when he had started crying, but hot, salty tears were running down his face.

"Please!" he begged of his parents again, heedless of either audience. "Mother, please, make them stop!"

They did not stop. The caning lasted longer than any of the other punishments. Anders had broken a sweat when he stopped, and there were thin stripes of blood criss-crossing his brother's buttocks. Hans had given up struggling, though the guards still held him.

 _Only two more, lad,_ Edvard thought at the boy. He was not sorry to see him spanked, but he did feel a touch sorry for him at the moment. Anna was not the only one in the family that was a fool for cute boys.

The last of it was pathetic. Hans did not fight as his fifth brother took another paddle to him, only lay over the bench sobbing. The guards released him after that, and he only covered his face with both hands and cried into them. The last brother to punish him used a leather strap, which left the youth's backside mottled dark scarlet and bright red. Hans actually screamed at that, kicking frantically and gripping the legs of the bench so tightly that his knuckles went white.

Edvard strode forward when it was done and bowed deeply before the King and Queen of the Southern Isles. Behind him, Hans was helped down from the bench by the guards. His body servant pulled his pants back up for him, and he shrieked when the fabric was pulled taught across the bruises. The audiences were murmuring loudly now with the buzz of sated sadism. No one dared jeer, but there was quite a bit of laughter. It almost drowned out the prince's loud, wailing sobs, but not quite. He stood there clutching his beaten backside and crying, looking more like a toddler than a teenager.

"I thank you for your justice, Your Grace," Edvard said to the king.

He turned from the dais, just in time to see Hans, unsupported, fall to his knees. To show there were no hard feelings between the kingdoms, Edvard pulled the lad to his feet and held him there with an arm under his shoulder. Hans clung to the front of his jacket, sobbing into it uncontrollably. He smelled of soap and another, softer scent reminiscent of cedar. Edvard found something amusingly sad about the fact that he had washed and perfumed himself for this particular event.

Edvard was trapped by the boy's clinging, and so he was the one to lead him out of the court. The guards and servants followed. Hans did not cling to the man solely for comfort: he could barely walk after the beatings. In his bedroom, he was helped out of his jacket and shoes by fussing servants. They lay him down on his stomach on the bed, where he cried into his pillow.

"Your highness, something to rub in for the pain?"

"Do you want something to eat, your highness?"

"Some wine, m'lord?"

Hans lifted his tear-stained face from the pillow, looking around at them as if they were a pack of wolves. Then, his temper returned.

"NO!" he shouted at them all. "NO, NO, NO! GET OUT! GET OUT! ALL OF YOU, GET _OUT_!"

The servants scurried to the door, and were gone. Edvard turned to leave as well.

"Not you!"

Surprised, Edvard turned back and walked towards the bed. Hans looked confused as to why he was still there, though he had ordered him to stay. He lowered his face, sniffling and rubbing his eyes with a fist, trying to calm himself.

"I would have thought I would be the last person you wish to see right now," Edvard said cautiously.

"You are," Hans said. "I don't know why … Yes, I hate seeing you. I hate your stupid pasty face. I hate your high-handed arrogance. I hate how you dress in white like some kind of ghost. I hate your cold, ugly kingdom. I hate your stupid, fawning Anna. And I hate your evil, cold-hearted Elsa more than anyone else."

Hans pushed himself up onto his knees on the bed shakily, and took Edvard by the front of his jacket. Edvard regarded him with patience. There was more misery than true anger in the lad's green eyes.

"I HATE YOU!" Hans shouted directly into the man's face. "I HATE YOU _ALL_! Damn you! DAMN YOU! Damn you! Damn you! Damn you … "

Hans broke down again, crying even as he shook the older man. He bowed his head, auburn hair falling into his face again. Fresh tears streamed down his face, pattering softly as they dripped down and hit the covers. Edvard took him into his arms and held him close. Hans struggled momentarily, but did not fight away.

 _This closeness is dangerous,_ Edvard warned himself. The boy's slim young body felt too pleasant in his arms, and the feeling of being needed was intoxicating. He told himself that he would set him down in bed, but he continued to hold him while he cried. Even reminding himself of the lad's crimes did little to cool the desires budding within him. _Edvard, you can't,_ he told himself as he stroked the youth's back, murmured meaningless words and sounds of comfort. _He is the son of your oldest friend. He is young enough to be **your** son, for heaven's sake! You cannot feel this way about him. Restraint, remember? Restraint, restraint … _

He was not wearing his gloves. He had not worn them since arriving in the Isles.

Hans drew back. He was nearly as red as his hair, and his chest was heaving. He raised his face to Edvard's, sniffling, drawing shuddering little breaths. He stared into Edvard's light eyes searchingly, frowning in consternation. Whatever Edvard was feeling, he must have been feeling it, too. He threw his arms around the man's neck, and closed the small gap between their profiles. He kissed him, openly, lustily, in a way that he had never kissed anyone before in his young life.

And Edvard kissed him back.

Hans moved closer to him, pressing against him. His backside throbbed as he moved, and he whimpered. Edvard's hand crept beneath his trousers, cupping one battered cheek. Coolness spread through his hand, soothing the stinging fire. The arousal this sparked was so sudden and complete that Hans gasped at the force of it.

"I can't," Edvard was murmuring. "I can't. You're a child. My friend's child. I can't. We can't, Hans. We can't. You're hurting, you're only hurting and you want to stop it. This won't help it, Hans. We can't, oh God … we can't do this … "

He could have stopped it. Having the power to cause instant cold, he could have dashed away all the physical effects of lust in an instant. He realized this, but then Hans was kissing his neck and his mind went blank. The boy deftly unbuttoned his jacket, untied his ascot and threw it somewhere. He was undressing him swiftly, intent on his unwholesome intentions.

Edvard finally forced himself to tear Hans away. His shirt was half-open by this point, and his pale skin was livened by a faint pink blush. Hans moved to kiss him again, to touch him, but he took both the youth's arms by the wrists and held them back. Hans pouted at him.

"We can't do this," Edvard said, forcing himself to be as authoritative as possible. "You are only a child, and you are emotional. It would be shameful to take advantage of you."

"Take advantage of _me_?" Hans laughed. "You've forgotten who you're talking to. Do you take me for that blushing simple maiden Anna?"

 _He is insane,_ Edvard realized uncomfortably. _And perfectly evil._

Hans could not free his arms, so he leaned his face forward. He licked his tongue down Edvard's chest, kissing one of his nipples. A shudder ran through the man's body.

"Stop it!" he snapped. "God help me, I'll spank you myself if you don't stop it!"

"You might as well," Hans said. He pulled Edvard's arms around his waist, so the man's hands brushed his bottom. "Everyone else will have by the time this week is done."

Edvard released his wrists and squeezed his bottom hard. The pain was incredible, and Hans cried out childishly. Still, he held onto the man's shoulders, and rested his head on his chest. The squeeze lightened into a caress, and then Edvard's hands betrayed him by slipping down the boy's pants. The bruises and cuts were an ugly sight: crossing lines of scarlet flecked with purple, wide thick splotches, raised welts. He had intended to frighten the boy by giving him a few whacks, but he tapped him much more lightly than he had intended. Still, the lad whimpered into his chest, even as he kissed him there.

 _Is he acting again?_

The thought was disconcerting enough to give Edvard serious pause. He tipped Hans's face up to his own by the chin, looking into his eyes as if he could read them. He saw pain and need, true, but there _was_ a glimmer of mischief still in there.

Galled by the idea of being fooled by this cruel, plotting child, Edvard threw him face-down onto the bed.

"No," he said, giving the boy's bottom a spank. "No, no, no."

"Owwww! No what?" Hans yelped angrily. "What's the matter with you? Don't you want me?"

"I want you more than it is decent, Hans," Edvard said as he gathered his clothes, "but you already knew that. You've suspected how I feel about you since the ship, and you must have seen the way I was looking at you today."

"You mean the way you were looking at my _ass_?" Hans said slyly. "Yeah, I noticed. Half the court probably noticed. So what?"

"So you're using me," Edvard said. "Don't bother to deny it. You plan to tell your father that I dishonored you, in the hopes that he will be angered enough to send me back to Arendelle and leave your punishment half done."

A twitch of his lips was all the evidence Edvard needed.

"You're a wretched child," Edvard said in disgust. "And a pathological liar. Have you learned nothing from your punishment? Do you have no shame, no pride, no honor whatsoever?"

Hans shrugged. He remained on his stomach, kicking his pants off and crossing his arms beneath his chest. He had not been scheming when he had kissed Edvard. He still did not know why he had done it, or why he wanted the older man so badly. The idea that he could use Edvard's affection against him had crossed his mind while he was undressing him, and he had already been working out a plot.

"I could scream right now," Hans said. "The guards would come in and find- what? At least if you had me, you would have gotten something out of it."

"Don't you dare."

Hans grinned widely. Edvard lunged over the bed and crushed his hand against the boy's mouth. He knelt over him, covering his mouth with one hand, holding the lad down with the other. Hans gave a muffled laugh.

"Moo do wab me," Hans mumbled through Edvard's hand. _You do want me_.

"I do," Edvard hissed into his ear. "I would have that bottom right back up in the air, if it were up to me, and I would love you until you were as sore inside as you are outside. Then I would spank you until your tears returned, and have you again. A boy like you needs a hard master to take you over and ride you 'til all that attitude is worn and loved and beaten out of you."

Hans bit into his fingers. Edvard winced, but maintained his grip on the youth's mouth. He wondered what he could do or say to keep him from calling the guards. He could not muffle him forever.

"I would like nothing more than to be that master," Edvard said wistfully. "Oh, you would spend a great deal of your life having to sit on pillows. You would spend your nights stripped and on your knees until you were a little humbled. Don't think for a moment that I could not tame you, lad. I could, and I would if it were possible … "

Hans bit down harder. His face felt very warm beneath Edvard's hand. He blushed easily, as many redheads tended to do. Edvard noticed a smattering of freckles across his nose, and he could not resist kissing him there. Hans kept on biting him, and he could feel blood slicking his hand.

"Vicious little brat, aren't you?" Edvard asked. He lowered his lips from Hans's nose, and slowly lowered his hand from his lips. Hans opened his mouth, but he cut off whatever he was going to say with a kiss.

"So," Hans said breathlessly when they parted for breath, "tame me."

Edvard might have made a start at it, but there was a knock at the door. He jumped back to quickly that he tripped and fell to the floor. He grabbed up his jacket from where it lay and ran to find a place to hide himself. Hans laughed at him. He wore only his shirt, long enough to cover his backside but thin enough for the red to be seen beneath it. He made no effort to cover himself.

Gunnar entered, mercifully parted from his riding crop. He looked at Hans, frowned.

"Why are you so happy?" he asked his little brother. "Is there something about being disgraced in front of the entire kingdom that you find amusing?"

"No," Hans said. "I'm laughing at someone."

Gunnar looked around. "Is someone here?"

"Prince Edvard of Arendelle is here," Hans said. "He was just about to make love to me."

Gunnar glanced around the room more sharply.

"He's behind the changing screen," Hans said helpfully.

Edvard had managed to make himself presentable. He stepped out from behind the screen, keeping his face carefully neutral. His eyes blazed with anger when he looked at Hans, however. Hans found this to be extremely funny, and buried his face in his pillow to muffle his laughter. Gunnar gave his brother a troubled look.

"Come with me," was all Gunnar said to Edvard.

He turned and left the room. Edvard gave Hans one last black look, and followed. Hans was in pain, but he managed to climb out of bed and hobble to the door. He pressed his ear to it, licking a smear of Edvard's blood from his bottom lip.

"Do not dishonor me with a denial," Gunnar was saying. "I have eyes to see. My brother has a talent for seducing the royals of Arendelle, it would seem."

"My lord, I am deeply regretful of my misconduct," Edvard said. "Your family has given me justice, and all I have done is disgrace the kingdom of Arendelle. I will withdraw from your land at once, and rescind my position as Ambassador."

"Leave? Why? Because you have a weakness for a handsome young man?" Gunnar asked. "Neither of our kingdoms takes legal issue with that. It might be good for Hans to be with someone older, and a man such as yourself. My father has told me much and more about you. He says that you are trustworthy, loyal, and very strong."

"His Grace is far too generous."

"Not with his opinions of people, you know that as well as I do," Gunnar said. "My father does not give praise where it is not deserved. If he claims you are worthy, then I believe it."

"Thank you, my lord."

"So, do you want my brother?" Gunnar asked baldly.

"Yes," Edvard found himself saying, "very much so."

"As I said, Hans stands to benefit from the wisdom of an older man," Gunnar said. "You could take him as your charge. If you liked, you might take him as consort, and that would help to heal this bad business between the Isles and Arendelle."

Edvard's pale eyes widened. Behind the door, Hans bit his bottom lip.

"You would give me … Hans?" Edvard asked. "My lord, he … he is your brother."

"I know it," Gunnar said solemnly. "I still remember what he looked like as a babe. Many of my brothers were born not very long after I was, and I can no longer remember them as newborns at all. I do remember Hans, though. He was a small thing, healthily fat, and he had a fuzz of red hair. I held him on my arm many times. Our lady mother nearly died birthing him. When she and the babe both survived, we celebrated. They said that he was a lucky child."

Hans raised his eyebrows. He had never heard such affection in his brother's voice before, certainly not directed at him. Was he lying? Trying to convince Edvard of his brotherly love?

"For a while, he was lucky, and happy," Gunnar went on. "He ran around the castle, always laughing, always smiling. But somewhere along the line, he stopped laughing so much, and his smiles changed. His smiles became more mocking than anything else, and they turned inward, as if he were smiling at some private joke rather than what everyone else was entertained by. There is something wrong with Hans. We all began to see it then, though he was damnably skilled at hiding his nature. I pleaded with our father to discipline him more stringently, but out of all of us, Hans is the only one that my father could never bring himself to strike."

"Hans believes that King Adam loves him less than the others of you."

"Hans will believe anything that separates him from the family," Gunnar said. "He wants to be special, so he victimizes himself to justify his greed and ambition. If he is the victim, then how could he possibly be a victim-maker? He is spoilt and ungrateful."

"On that point, we agree."

"Our father loves us all, but he has had a soft spot for Hans since his birth," Gunnar said. "Hans will be the last one, that is certain. My father was already an older man when he was born. He was tired of sternness, tired of a lifetime spent raising boys into men by the rod. He left his discipline to Adrian and I, the other older ones, but we have always been too busy with our duties to pay Hans much mind. I may have seemed quite harsh when I whipped him, but it was only due to my guilt. I failed Hans by not disciplining him sooner. I suppose a part of me, in that moment, thought I could make up for that."

Hans rubbed his sore bottom, cursing Gunnar and his stupid guilt.

"It would be good for Hans to be under the care of an older man that is not family and will not hesitate to discipline him," Gunnar told Edvard. "My father's health is starting to fail. Watching Hans beaten upset him so much that he's retired to bed. He would be grateful to know that Hans is safe under the care of a friend so trusted as you, and it would be good for him to be separated from Hans and his … problems."

"How could I take Hans for my charge?" Edvard asked. "He is banished from Arendelle."

"When you were Ambassador before, you lived in a castle here in the Isles," Gunnar said. "It has been in disuse since you last left it."

"Stay in the Isles?" Edvard asked, surprised. "That is … I have duties of my own in Arendelle. The towns in the vale, my castle in the mountains-"

"Arendelle sounds to be in very good hands now," Gunnar pointed out. "They will manage without you for a time. Later, when the younger girl is married, she may wish to take the mountainside for her own domain. If not, it is small and remote enough to be entrusted to any lord or lady."

"True enough," Edvard said slowly. "It is much and more to think on, Your Highness. I will need some time to consider."

"You shall have it," Gunnar said. "For now, I'll leave you to it. While you are here, please, take care of Hans. I know that he is insufferable, but he is my brother, and he will be hurting this week."

"I will try, Your Highness."

Hans turned and began to stumble to his bed. The door opened, and soon after Edvard stopped him by the back of his shirt. He tugged him back, turned him around to face him. He took one look at his face and knew that he had been eavesdropping.

"How much did you hear?"

"All of it." Hans crossed his arms. "I can't believe my brother would simply _give_ me to you! To a perverted old man!"

"I was rather taken aback myself."

Hans winced as he walked back to bed. He climbed up and settled back onto his stomach. His bottom was throbbing with pain. Bruises were like babies, they grew teeth with time.

"To keep peace with Arendelle!" scoffed Hans. "To hell with Arendelle! I'm sick to death of your damned kingdom! I'm supposed to find a bride with a kingdom on her pretty little shoulders, not be a consort to _you_."

"I am a prince," Edvard said. He sat on the edge of the bed. "Do you still believe that you can marry your way into power? No one in the world will let you marry their daughter after it becomes known what happened in Arendelle. Besides, how do you intend to find a bride when you're confined to the Isles for the rest of your life? They will not let you travel again, Hans."

"There are plenty of foolish girls in the world, and many of them come to court here," Hans said. "All I need do is snatch one from court, convince her that I was a victim of your evil kingdom and its wicked queen, and get married. We can be married here in the Isles."

"So that her father can storm your kingdom?" Edvard said dryly. "It would be an act of war if a man like you married a foreign princess."

Hans had the expression he had worn when Edvard had slapped him. Edvard put a hand on his shoulder.

"I might be the best match you could hope for," Edvard said softly. "But you do not really want me, do you? I would still take you as a charge, perhaps, but I would never force you into anything against your will. I am harsh, but not cruel."

"No?" Hans said. He smirked. "I thought you would strip me and spank me and have me on my knees?"

Edvard rubbed his temple, not quite believing he had said such outrageous things.

"I was angered when I said that."

"But you did mean it," Hans said knowingly. He rested his head on his crossed arms, looking up at the man sideways. _I do want him,_ he thought, _and he **is** a prince. He also has a thing no one in the Isles does: that power of his._

Hans moved on the bed, so that his head rested on the man's lap. Edvard ran a hand through his lank auburn hair, ruffling it, pushing it off his forehead. Hans expected the tenderness to be cloying, as it had been with Anna, but it wasn't.

"What is this, Hans?" Edvard asked gently. "Hm? Are you trying to decide how useful I might be to you? Are you even attracted to me at all? Do you even want to be with another man?"

"I've been with men," Hans said. "The first time, I was fourteen. I wanted to know what sex was like, so that I would never fear it the way so many pathetic boys do with their stammers and their shyness. I demanded that my serving boy pleasure me. He was sixteen, and I had seen the way that he looked at me sometimes. He was horribly gentle, afraid to break his little prince, I presume. I found less gentle men to please me later."

"I should have known," sighed Edvard. "So, you only decided to marry a princess out of ambition? You've felt nothing for any woman? You felt nothing for Anna?"

"Not a thing." Hans yawned lazily. He had not been able to sleep much the past night, kept up by dread of the spanking. "Well, I did feel _some_ things. Disgust. Annoyance. Things like that. I never wanted her for love or even attraction. I wanted her kingdom. If I had succeeded, perhaps _I_ would have taken _you_ for a consort."

"That would never have happened."

"No, I guess not," laughed Hans. "I suppose I would have taken your head."

"I take it back," Edvard said. "I will keep you stripped and spanked and on your knees. Also, possibly in a cage."

"That would turn you on, wouldn't it?" Hans said, looking up at him. "That would be power, the power you still want, no matter what you say. I would be an unofficial hostage of Arendelle. You could use me as you liked, when you liked. You would have the villain of the Isles helpless before you."

Hans got to his knees and toppled Edvard. He fell back onto the bed, and Hans leaned over him. He tried to resume seducing him, but Edvard kissed him so tenderly that Hans felt a stab of pain. Sometimes pity could be more depressing than punishment, Hans noted.

"No, no, enough of that," Edvard said. He kicked off his boots and brought his legs up onto the bed. He lay back against a pillow, holding Hans tightly in both arms. "Hush now, child."

"I'm not a child," Hans said, though weakly. He squirmed in the man's arms, disturbed by the misery creeping into him. "Let go of me, then. If you won't give me pleasure, then leave me alone."

Edvard said nothing. He continued holding the young man close, stroking his back, caressing his arm. Hans struggled and insulted him, but the unrelenting kindness broke him eventually. He was sore, confused, and lonely. Most of all, he was lonely.

Hans looked up at Edvard. His defenses had collapsed, Edvard could see that from the tears glistening in his eyes. He looked at the man the way a child would, needing and wanting and afraid.

"Do you love me?"

"Yes," Edvard replied before he had even considered the question. He had known it all along, since that day on the ship. "I love you, Hans."

The lad's face crumbled, and he burst into tears. He lay his head on Edvard's chest and cried softly for a very long time. Edvard stroked his hair, his back, his naked buttocks. He kissed the top of his head and murmured to him. He waited patiently until Hans had cried himself to sleep.

 _I do love him,_ Edvard thought as he watched the youth sleep. _I love him more than I've loved anyone in a long, long time. I suppose neither of us realized how lonely we actually were._

* * *

"You don't love me."

Edvard sighed, tired of the argument. He ordered the servants away and came over to Hans on the bed. The lad had only moved from lying on his stomach to change into his long sleeping shirt. Edvard sat on the edge of the bed and set a tray of food between them.

"If you loved me, you would have my punishment canceled," Hans said sullenly. "Haven't I been beaten enough?"

"Not by half," Edvard said dryly. "But I did try to get your father to cancel it, regardless. Believe me, he would if he could, but it was announced that you were to be spanked by each of your brothers publicly. Your father would look a fool if he went back on his own word. Now here, eat something."

"I'm not hungry," Hans said. "And you're not good for anything."

"You've earned this punishment, and you'll simply have to take it," Edvard told him. "It has nothing to do with me. Now eat this. You're going to need your strength."

"Why?" Hans said bitterly. "So I can heal a bruise or two before the rest of my brothers whack some more into me?"

"You're too old to sulk," Edvard informed him. He fed the lad a spoonful of meat pie. "Bad enough that you made such a fuss over a spanking. Must you act like a spoiled brat as well?"

"You're a judgmental old bastard," Hans said, chewing. He took the spoon from Edvard to feed himself. "Especially for a pervert that likes handsome young boys."

"You're very confident."

"I _am_ handsome," Hans said. "Did you tell my father that you want to f-"

"I told your father that I would take you on as my ward," Edvard cut him off. He took the lad by the ear, just hard enough to get his attention. "A ward that I will not allow to use such unseemly language."

Hans scowled, but did not object. Edvard released his ear.

"You've decided, then?" Hans asked. "You're going to stay in the Southern Isles to be with the man that tried to steal your family's kingdom?"

"Love is inexplicable."

"Love is stupid," Hans said flatly. He propped himself up on an elbow to drank some of his wine, looking Edvard over as he did. "What will your frosty queen think of this, do you think?"

"She'll think that I am a very foolish man," Edvard said ruefully, "and she will be right."

"I would be willing to bet that she'll think more than that," Hans said. "I believe she'll think that you've fallen to plotting against her with me."

"Queen Elsa knows that I would never turn against mine own family again," Edvard said. "I confessed to her and offered her my head before escorting you home. She trusts me."

"Does she?" Hans scoffed. "I think not. Your icy queen does not trust easily. She's been the only one I've never been able to fool. And what does she know about you, really? That you have a power comparable to hers, that you once schemed to steal her father's throne, and that you now claim to love her worst enemy! What would _you_ think, if you were her?"

"I suppose it is a little suspect," Edvard admitted. "Still, Her Grace is cautious, but not paranoid. She will watch and wait, and see in time that I mean her no harm."

"Are you certain that you don't?" Hans asked. He studied Edvard shrewdly with those cunning green eyes of his. "Perhaps you have more ambition left than you thought."

"Don't get your hopes up, lad," Edvard said. "I would never turn against my family again."

Hans was not fully convinced, but he let the issue rest. He continued eating in silence a while. Edvard left his side and had servants begin drawing up a hot bath. By the time Hans finished eating, the servants were gone and the tub was filled.

"I'll leave you to it," Edvard said, heading for the door.

"No, you won't," Hans called him back. "Come help me to the tub."

"I'll fetch one of your servants," Edvard said. "I'm not to be ordered around by you."

" _Please_ help me to the tub," Hans said grudgingly. He climbed off the bed but had to grip it to keep on his feet. "I can't stand for my servants to see me so wretched."

Edvard could understand that. He came to Hans's side and helped him cross the room. Hans did not let go of him when they reached the tub. He pulled the long shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Edvard turned his face, but Hans turned it back.

"You might as well look," Hans said. "I'll be your whore in all but name soon."

"I would never force you to my bed."

"You would never have to," Hans said quietly.

He reached up to touch Edvard's face, but Edvard caught him by the wrist.

"Don't you do that," Edvard said, quiet but firm. "Don't you lie for me. I won't have it. Now get in the tub, lad."

Hans climbed into the steaming water gingerly. He hoped it would soothe his bruises, but they still ached too much to be sat upon. He lay along the length of the tub on his stomach, facing Edvard. He could see the man's erection straining against his breeches.

"You're going to need to stop wearing white," Hans teased. He leaned his chin on the edge of the tub. "And I wasn't lying. You might think I'm a spoiled brat that deserves all this, but you've still been the only one that's treated me decently. I … I do not hate you."

 _How generous,_ Edvard thought. He might have said it aloud, but there was a sweet shyness in Hans's words that made him think the boy _was_ being as generous as he could be. He wondered who had taught the boy that love was a weakness. With a sigh, he sat down on the stool beside the tub. He took up a sponge and wrung some water through the youth's auburn hair. He thought on it a while, as he bathed the lad, careful of the thin cuts across his bottom.

"You loved him, didn't you?" Edvard finally asked.

Hans had been drifting off. He opened his eyes, turned his head where it rested on the tub's rim.

"What?" he said. "Who?"

"The servant boy that you lost your innocence to at fourteen," Edvard said. "You loved him."

"Do I strike you as the type that would be foolish enough to fall in love with a servant?" Hans laughed, though the sound of it was forced. "Sometimes you're just as naïve as your stupid niece Anna."

"Who told you that what you felt for him was a weakness, Hans?"

Hans stared up at the man blankly. How could he have guessed the truth so thoroughly? Several retorts and lies rose to Hans's lips, but he could not bring himself to voice them. He turned his face from Edvard's wise, pale one.

"He did," Hans said, his voice scarcely a whisper. "He said, 'Oh my sweet prince, you can't love me. You are royalty, and I am unworthy of you. You must be stronger than your heart, and find a good match for yourself'. It was the best thing that anyone could have taught me, to be stronger than the weak heart."

"What happened to him?"

"The servant?" Hans asked. "I had him exiled. It was the first thing I did to make myself strong."

"Oh, you foolish child, you learned the wrong lesson," Edvard said, not unkindly. "This gentle servant of yours was a boy himself. He was probably frightened to be loved by his prince. But you _were_ the prince, Hans. You could have kept the boy you loved close. You could have been happy."

"And give a servant the importance of being a royal consort?" Hans sneered. "It would have been a weakness."

"There are times when duty dictates that we must be stronger than our hearts, but that does not mean the heart is always weak," Edvard told him. "Certainly not when it comes to love. Love strengthens us, always."

"It didn't strengthen Anna."

"It saved Anna and Elsa's lives."

"Magic is silly that way," sighed Hans.

"Magic cuts to the core of what is important," Edvard said. "In the end, only love is important."

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Hans asked. "Is that what you want, Edvard? For me to love you? Don't hold your breath. Love doesn't matter."

"It mattered to you," Edvard reminded him. "When you asked me earlier, it mattered to you then."

Hans leaned his head on the tub again and shut his eyes. He ignored the remark, but Edvard saw him blushing a little. Hans was silent until Edvard gently sponged the cuts on his backside clean, when he yelped.

"I'm sorry, lad," Edvard said. "It can't be helped."

"I can't go through that again," Hans blurted out. He gripped the edge of the tub tightly, wincing. "I can't be beaten like that six more times. Prince Edvard, please, _please_ don't let them."

"You should have considered the consequences _before_ you did such horrible things," Edvard told him. His sympathy could only go so far. "Just yesterday you were begging your father to punish you as a man, and now you're whining about being spanked like a boy? This display of cowardice does not serve you, Hans."

"But it hurts," Hans said softly, bowing his head. "It hurts so much. And the people … they were _laughing_ at me."

Edvard chuckled. Hans shot him a wounded look.

"I'm not laughing at you," Edvard lied. He touched Hans's face. "It's only that you looked very adorable, I thought, with this lovely arse of yours plumped up and naked for the world to watch it redden. You're a very bad boy, Hans, and it's only right that you're punished."

"I'm glad you're so amused," Hans said furiously. He snatched the sponge from Edvard's hand and hit away the other hand that had been squeezing his bottom. He wobbled to his feet and violently scrubbed himself. "I take back what I said. You're not decent at all! You're a sadistic bastard!"

Hans's angry independence only lasted until he finished bathing. He nearly fell when he went to step out of the tub, and Edvard caught him in his arms. He glared up at Edvard, but the prince only smoothed back his wet hair.

"Now, now," Edvard calmed him. He kissed the youth on the forehead. "I was only teasing you. I'm sorry that you're so afraid, lad. I don't blame you for it. But you did earn yourself this fate, and then some. Can you at least admit that much?"

" _No_ ," Hans said stubbornly. "If I had succeeded in my plans, I would be a hero right now. Everything I did, I did for the Isles."

"You did it for yourself," Edvard said sternly. It was quite difficult to be cross with the naked young man sopping wet in his arms, but he managed. "For your own power and glory. If you had succeeded and brought war down on Arendelle and the Isles, you'd be getting a lot worse than you are. Sorry as I am for you, Hans, you can't expect myself or anyone else to lament a naughty boy being spanked."

 _I hate him,_ Hans thought, even as he felt his arousal stirred by the scolding. He tried to fight what he was feeling, but it was no use. He climbed out of the tub and rushed into a furious kiss. Edvard stumbled back, kissing him back with equal fervor.

"Well, I _hated_ being good," Hans said breathlessly. He kissed Edvard again, quickly and intensely. "All those years pretending to love my insipid brothers, acting as if I wouldn't get rid of every one of them if I had the chance. Romancing all those silly princesses: laughing at their silly jokes and looking into their big cow eyes, flattering them and listening to their stupid giggles. I hated that night with Anna, dancing and singing and hanging onto every word of her awkward banter. I hated being good! I hated it!"

Hans kissed the older man again, biting his lip and drawing blood. The water on his body was soaking through Edvard's clothes, and it felt as if there were nothing between them. Edvard gave his bottom a light slap. Hans grinned.

"Fine, so I'll be spanked," he said. "Let the entire damn kingdom see me taken over like a bad little boy. I _am_ bad. I _want_ to be bad. Tell me, Edvard, would you? Tell me how bad I am."

 _It's nice to finally meet the real Hans,_ Edvard thought cynically. He took Hans by the shoulders and lay him on his back on his bed. The youth squirmed and winced beneath him, though his smirk did not waver. Edvard held him there, kissing him on the lips, the chest, the neck.

"You're a terrible brat," Edvard told him. He lifted one of the youth's legs up a little to give his upper thigh a slap, since his bottom had had enough abuse. "Hans, you're a selfish-" _Smack._ "-arrogant-" _Smack._ "-spoiled-" _Smack._ "-conniving, cruel child."

Hans kissed him hard, then rolled onto his stomach. He was half bent over the edge of the bed, making quite a target of his bright red buttocks. Edvard had pitied the youth earlier, but he still felt a thrill for being able to join in his discipline. He soothed a hand over the bruises, and then spanked his upper thighs and lower buttocks with his hand, moderately hard. His cock was throbbing with need, but he was not quite done with this foreplay just yet.

"You may relish being a brat now, but you'll be sorry," Edvard scolded. "You'll be sorry when you can't walk from your next session two days hence. You'll be very sorry to stand clutching that arse of yours and howling like a babe in front of the kingdom again. You'll be a very, very sorry boy."

"No," Hans murmured into the sheets he was gripping. He murmured wordlessly in pleasure, and looked over his shoulder at the other prince. "No, you know that I won't- ow! Oh, ow! Ow!- be. Mmph. I won't be sorry."

"Stubborn child." Edvard ceased striking him and soothed the hot flesh again. "We'll see how unrepentant you are when your brothers are through with you. Won't we? Hm?"

He gave Hans's buttocks a few spanks. Hans kicked in pain, finally moaning with something other than pleasure.

"Okay, okay!" he exclaimed. "I'm sorry! That's enough! Ow, please! Ow ow ow! Please, that's enough!"

Satisfied, Edvard stood and left him there. Hans rubbed his bottom and thighs, flinching as his hand passed over the welts. Edvard returned and sat beside him. He pushed his hand away impatiently and began rubbing oils into the marks. Hans writhed and whimpered. Edvard suspected this juvenile display was more for his benefit than anything, though he did not doubt the lad was smarting.

When he was done, Edvard kissed the small of the boy's back. Hans shivered as the kisses continued up his spine. They were very close now, and he felt Edvard's hand brush his buttocks as he unbuttoned his breeches.

"You're a very bad boy," Edvard murmured into his ear. "Now get on your knees, you wicked young man."

For once, Hans did as he was told.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Edvard could not convince King Adam to cancel the rest of the punishment, but he did manage to convince him to let Hans have three days to recover rather than two. Hans spent the days sulking and pouting and shouting at his servants. He would have abused his servants, but Edvard stopped him from it with a threat. Despite his claim of enjoying being the bad boy, Hans was still very reluctant to subject his raw buttocks to further toasting. He would look over his shoulder at the bruises every morning in the mirror, wincing as he pressed on them gingerly. Edvard made love to him some more times, but he ceased smacking him for the while. He rubbed down the bruises with oils and sometimes let his hand soothe them with a little cold, but it was still a day before Hans was out of bed, and two before he dared sit down. When he did sit, he cushioned his chair with a pillow, though it humiliated him so much that his face burned scarlet every time he did. When Edvard jokingly suggested that they go for a horse ride, Hans had turned a worrying shade of pale.

As the days went on, Hans grew more nervous. Desperation grew on him like a second skin, and he had regressed in manner. He stared at his hands more, or his feet, and largely avoided looking anyone in the eye. He had even begun scrubbing a fist over his mouth again, which he had not done since childhood. Fear and misery would overtake him, and he would sit crying stupidly for hours. Edvard would hold him and kiss him and comfort him. Though it made Hans feel even dumber, Edvard's comfort soothed him, so he allowed it.

On the fourth day, Hans tried to stay in bed. When Edvard pulled the covers off and tugged his arm, desperation broke the lad.

"No, please!" he begged Edvard, clutching his arm. "Tell my father that I'm sick. Or-or take me out of here, right now. Take me to that castle you have down here, let me serve you there. Please, _please_ don't make me go."

"I'm sorry, but I can't, Hans," Edvard said gently. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, trying to guide the boy out of bed. "Come on, lad, don't embarrass yourself."

"Please!" Hans wailed as he was pulled bodily out of bed, struggling. "Prince Edvard, please, if you love me, if you care about me at all, don't make me go! Please!"

"Must I call the guards?" Edvard asked. "Come on, lad, don't make this any harder than it is. Be a man about it."

"Damn you!" Hans shouted at him. He pushed Edvard off. "I hate you! You're a sick, sick, cruel old man, and I hate you! I never should have let you touch me. You're never going to touch me again."

Edvard was in no mood to deal with the resistance. He summoned servants and guards. Hans was stripped of his nightclothes, bathed, dressed, and forced out of his bedroom. He was grimly quiet by the time he was marched through the palace. Edvard tried to squeeze his hand, but Hans veered away from him.

Hans considered taking one of the guards' swords and making a mad dash when he saw the spanking bench in the palace hall. He hesitated and had to be discreetly pushed along. He was trembling as he stepped onto its single step, and his stomach fluttered as he bent over it. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision. Behind him, a servant peeled down his breeches, exposing his buttocks. The bruises had faded, the cuts had healed, but he was still very sore. He dreaded the pain of having that tender flesh beaten all over again.

Hans blinked back tears, and then Edvard was kneeling before him. The prince took Hans's hands in his own and held them tightly. Despite himself, Hans gripped Edvard's hands back, and gave him a small, sad smile.

Taking a cue from Adrian, the first brother to spank him today used his naked palm. He was very thorough, however, warming Hans's buttocks into a warm buzz of irritation. Hans bit his bottom lip and clung to Edvard's hands, but it did no good. The tears spilled from his eyes, and he shut them. Edvard's thumbs rubbed over his knuckles, though he could not say anything due to the audience.

Hans was paddled next, and he could not keep from crying out. He yelped and kicked, as his bottom burst into a glow of pain. His nails dug into Edvard's skin, but the man did not release his hands. After the paddling came a series of strokes with a thin whipping cane, after each of which Hans yelped and jumped a bit on the bench. That was three, and he was halfway done, but he already felt that he could not take anymore.

"Please, oh please, I'm sorry," the prince of the Southern Isles cried. "I won't be bad again, I promise. Please, no more. Please, give me a moment, please- Aaaaaoooowww!"

The fourth brother was another who had intended to woo one of Arendelle's princesses. He whipped his younger brother with a strap, ignoring his screams and shrieks. Hans kicked so violently that his ankles had to be tied to the bench legs. Edvard swallowed tightly, caressing his hands as he held them.

"Two more yet, lad," Edvard murmured under his breath. "Shhh. There, there, there. Almost done, boy, almost done."

The youth's face was red and blotchy, his eyes circled red from crying. He was shaking awfully, his breathing wet and irregular pants. He nodded, but then there was another crack, and he wailed. His throat sounded hoarse from shouting. Even Edvard began to think that this was all too excessive.

Hans was reduced to quiet whimpers when the fifth brother to punish him this day dully whacked his fire-red buttocks with a paddle. He was entirely silent as his last brother, the priest Jakob, chastised him with a flogger. Edvard did not like the look of him, and thought the lad might have gone into a state of shock. He dropped the boy's hands and stood.

"I think that is enough," Edvard said, staying Jakob's hand. He turned to the thrones up on the dais and bowed low. "Arendelle is satisfied that justice has been done. Thank you, Your Majesty. I know this has not been easy for you."

"No," King Adam said, his voice hoarse as well. "It has not. I accept your forgiveness and thank you, Prince Edvard of Arendelle. If you would please … my son … "

"Of course, Your Majesty."

Hans was untied and Edvard helped him off the bench. His eyes were hazy, and he looked up at the man with the expression of the very slow. Edvard led him out of the throne room stiffly, having to guide him and support him both. When they were in the hall outside, Hans collapsed. Edvard struggled with his weight, finally having to pick him up in his arms and carry him.

Hans clung to Edvard, huddled against him like a kitten. All trace of the brash, ambitiously malevolent usurper was gone from him. He shook like a leaf in the wind, and his eyes were dazed. Edvard murmured condolences to him, but he seemed not to hear.

In Hans's bedroom, Edvard dismissed all his servants and shut the doors. He lay Hans down on his bed, where Hans buried his face in his pillow. The redness of his bruises could be seen through his light-colored breeches. Edvard pulled his shoes off, then peeled the breeches down. The remaining bruises from the first spanking session had deepened to dark purple, and the fresh welts were ruddy and swollen. Edvard was tempted to give the boy enough cold to numb the pain out, but he did not. It was a hard lesson, but Hans had needed to learn it. Edvard rubbed his bottom gently, letting his hand cool it some with his magic. Afterward, he rubbed some soothing oils in, though Hans winced and gave small mewling cries at every rub. This reignited his misery, and he began to cry in heart wrenching sobs.

Edvard removed his own shoes and climbed onto the bed once he was done. He pulled Hans onto his chest and stroked his shoulder and back. He kissed the top of the youth's head, smelling the faint sweat in his hair.

"It's over, lad, it's over," Edvard murmured to him. He tilted Hans's face up to his own gently, kissed his lips. "You be a good boy from now on. You will behave yourself, won't you? No, look at me. Look at me, Hans, and answer the question. Will you behave?"

"Yes," Hans said meekly. He cleared his throat painfully. "Yes, I will."

"And are you sorry?"

To Edvard's surprise, Hans hesitated. The pause lasted only two seconds, but it was enough to make Edvard realize that the lad probably had many more spankings coming in the future. Gunnar was right, Hans did need to be with someone strict.

"Yes."

"I want you to say it," Edvard said. "Are you sorry?"

"Yes, I'm sorry … Prince Edvard."

"Good." Edvard kissed the youth's forehead and let him fall back onto his chest. He stroked his silky auburn hair, noting the strands of copper and wine. "You won't be a boy forever, Hans. As unpleasant as you find this to be, a real whipping is a thousand times worse. Remember that."

"Would you lash me?" Hans asked with a sniffle. "If I go with you, when I'm older … would you have me lashed?"

"No, lad." Edvard knew that he should lie to frighten the boy, but he could not bear to. "No, I would send you away, back to your father, but I could not have you lashed. How could I scar that lovely fair skin?"

Edvard raised the youth's shirt up and off. His fingers grazed his bare back tenderly. Edvard had seen men whipped, and the thought of seeing this boy's back striped with bleeding welts made him ill. He was a failed usurper, an attempted murderer, a seducer, a liar, but he was still a boy, for all that. Edvard cursed his weakness for handsome men.

"Sending you home might get you a lashing, though," Edvard warned. "Judging by how harsh some of your brothers were, I think more than a few of them would have you whipped."

"Some of my brothers intended the same thing that I did, and punished me for ruining their chances," Hans sulked. "They wanted to marry that Anna, just like I did."

"But they would not have wanted her and her sister dead, I would imagine."

"You'd be surprised," Hans said darkly. "Taking power, giving power, keeping power, it's all a game to people like you and I. You quit the game. I lost a round. It will still go on without us."

Edvard wanted to shake his cynicism out of him, but he found that he could not even argue. He recalled the youth he had spent traveling the world: mastering his power, forging secret alliances, sniffing out potential threats to his claim, whispering in the dark. It _had_ felt like a game, an exhilarating sport of chance and charm. His own brother, family, and kingdom had been relegated to pieces on the board in his mind. Had he really been so different from Hans? _Was he_ really so different from him now?

"You lost a round, you said," Edvard noted. "You're still plotting."

Hans knew better than to respond to that. He settled fully on Edvard's chest, closing his eyes. He had run out of tears, and he had nothing more to say to anyone. His buttocks were aching desperately, and all he wanted to do was sleep and be rid of it.

"So be it," Edvard told him. "Whatever your plans, just remember that I plan to tame you. You won't have an easy time playing this game of yours lying on your stomach with a smacked bottom all the time."

"You're a cruel man."

"And you are a brat."

Hans opened his eyes and looked up at him. He leaned up, wincing, and kissed Edvard. It was a bittersweet kiss, full of need and tasting of tears. Then the lad curled up on his chest, and Edvard sang him an old lullaby from the Isles until he had fallen asleep.

* * *

When Hans woke up, Edvard was gone. He was covered with the sheets and duvet, but otherwise still naked. His buttocks hurt so much when he tried to move that he cried out. Utterly depressed, Hans lay very still on his stomach. He could see twilight through the curtains, stars coming out. For some reason, he thought about his night with Anna, the moonlight beaming on her big, loving blue eyes. Would she laugh when she read an account of his prolonged and painful punishment? He thought that she would. He tried to be angry at her for it, but all he felt was sadness.

 _They could have both died,_ Hans thought. His mind was foggy, muddled with emotion and pain. _They could have been dead because of me, and all I got was a spanking._

No, that was not all he had gotten, he recalled. He was banished from Arendelle, and forbidden to travel outside the Isles. He could not forgive his family for this brutal beating, and he knew that many of them would not forgive him for the trouble he had caused. He would most likely be sent to live as an unofficial hostage of Edvard's.

 _I did get Edvard, though,_ Hans thought. The older man was as brittle and harsh as winter ice, and Hans knew he would not hesitate to tan his hide all over again if he provoked him. Still, Edvard loved him, and he had that power of his, that cold magic. There was a lot of potential in the man, if Hans could only draw it out. Hans had always wanted to be a king himself, but if that could never happen, being a king's consort was not so unappealing. Edvard was severe, but love _was_ a weakness, no matter what the man said. Hans was certain that he could manipulate him in time, and there were ways of ruling from the bottom, even from over the man's knee.

The bedroom door opened and Hans turned his face on the sweat-stained pillow. To his surprise, his father was making his way slowly towards the bed. Hans pulled the sheets high over himself, and spread the covers over the sex-dirtied sheets.

"My poor boy, my Hans," King Adam said softly. His hand stroked Hans's hair. "My dear son, please, you must forgive me."

Hans hit his hand away and propped himself up on his elbows.

"Forgive you?" he echoed incredulously. " _Forgive you_? I will never forgive you! I can hardly look at you! You _disgust_ me!"

"Hans, you must understand, you forced my hand."

"Arendelle forced your hand, and you let them!" Hans cried. "You should have denounced their treatment of me, denied their accusations! You should have gone to war for me! But what did you do? You let them make me the villain, and you have your own son beaten savagely by his brothers! Do you know how humiliating it was? To have all the princes that are so much better than I am punish me?"

"They are not better than you, and I have never thought they were," King Adam said gently. "I love you, Hans, as I love all of my children. I had to make peace with Arendelle by having you punished, otherwise they would have demanded a more severe punishment, don't you see? I could not risk losing you."

"You could not risk going to war!" Hans sneered. "You've made the Southern Isles into a coward's paradise!"

"Hans, please-"

King Adam reached out to his son, but Hans hit his arm away.

"Don't you touch me!" he screamed. "Don't you ever touch me again! I will stay in the Isles, and I will go to live with Prince Edvard. You will be rid of your troublesome son, so do not trouble yourself on my account any further!"

"Do you wish to live with Prince Edvard?" King Adam inquired. "Gunnar tells me that he believes that will be the best thing for you, but are you content?"

"I'll be more content to be his whore than your son," Hans growled. "I _do not_ forgive you, father, nor any of my brothers. At least in disgrace I will be free of all of you!"

Edvard had entered the room, and now he appeared behind King Adam. The King was stricken, nearly as pale as Edvard. He rubbed his clammy face.

"Hans-"

"No! Do not speak to me!" Hans shouted. "Never call me a son again! I do not forgive you! I will never forgive you! Get out! I don't want to see you again! Leave me!"

Edvard walked around King Adam. He sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand on Hans's shoulder. "Now, Hans, don't be so-"

"Oh shut up, you've already gotten what you came to the Isles for," Hans scowled. "He is your friend, but I'm your lover. I don't want to see him."

"Hans, you're being unreasonable," Edvard told him. "Your father is-"

"No, I cannot blame him for hating me," King Adam said. He was breathing heavily, and a hand was over his chest. "I only hope that you believe I love you, Hans, and that someday you might forgive me."

"Never!" Hans said fiercely. "I never will! Never!"

King Adam staggered out of the room. Hans hit the pillow several times, seething. Edvard stroked his shoulder through his thin shirt.

"That was cruel of you, Hans," he said. "Your father did not look well."

"Let him be unwell," Hans said. "I hope he dies!"

"Prince Hans, that is no way to talk," Edvard scolded. He squeezed Hans's shoulder, wiped the few tears that stood at the corners of his eyes. "Now, how are you? Hungry?"

"No," Hans sighed. "No, I'm tired. Lie with me."

Edvard stepped out of his shoes and climbed onto the bed. For all his tough words, Edvard found Hans to be quite needy. His hands thirsted for touch, and his eyes were perpetually hungry for attention. His ambition had led him to desire a kingdom, but Edvard suspected Hans had ever only wanted one thing: someone all his own to love and be loved by.

"As soon as I am able, I will go with you to your castle here," Hans said. "There is nothing left for me here, and I am a prisoner in my own kingdom. I dare not show my face in public after this."

"What shall you do with yourself?"

"I have no idea."

"I'll bring you home with me, and you can recover from all of this," Edvard suggested. "Perhaps you can pursue some studies, and I'll be certain to teach you manners better suited to a prince."

"I _can_ be well-mannered," Hans pointed out. "If I were incapable, I never would have been the charming prince that I was for so many years. I had so many prospects … "

Edvard turned his eyes heavenward, but said nothing. Hans nestled against his chest, one leg thrown over Edvard's. His shirt slipped back, revealing the ugly bruises on his buttocks and upper thighs. He sympathized with Hans, but Edvard had to admit that there were few lovelier sights than a haughty brat having been well-punished.

"Well, at least I can do whatever I want now," Hans said. "No pretending, no pleasing anyone-"

"Excepting myself."

"-and no family," Hans continued, ignoring him. "You might be a strict master to serve, but you are mine and mine alone. Besides, you will also serve me, won't you?"

"In bed only, Hans," Edvard said. "Do not think that I will be charmed into serving your questionable agendas."

 _Do not think that you won't,_ Hans thought, smiling. He kissed Edvard, feeling the icy sternness melt as he did. He might have done more, simply to prove the point, but he was hurting too sorely. He lay down again upon the man, and basked in the warmth of his company until he fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Epilogue**

"Ow! Ow, ow!"

"Prince Hans, must you shriek at every bounce of the carriage?" Edvard asked in exasperation. "I told you that it would be a hard ride out, but you were the one who insisted on leaving."

"I couldn't stand another—ow!—day in that place!" Hans said, gritting his teeth. He shifted where he sat, unable to find a comfortable position. "My brothers are all so smug. My mother looks at me like her heart is breaking. And my father!"

"He is ill, Hans," Edvard said. "The grief has made him sick. You should have forgiven him before we left."

"I'm the one that should be grieving!" Hans snapped. "I'm the one that lost everything! I will—ow, ow, damn it—never forgive him."

"Why is it that you blame everyone for your losses except yourself?" Edvard asked. "There is no one else to blame, Hans. You grossly overreached, that is all there is to it."

Hans crossed his arms, biting back a yelp when the carriage jumped again. Merely two days had passed since the last of his punishment, and the bruises were nowhere close to healing. He was almost tempted to tell the carriage to turn back, but they were already well away from the castle. Edvard finally pulled him over and sat him on his lap, positioning him so there was minimal pressure on his aching bottom. Hans blushed, but did not fight him. Edvard would never treat him like anything but a child, Hans had realized by now. Though he sulked, secretly Hans did not really mind it. His attempts at adulthood had ended in disaster, so why not remain a bit of a child? Edvard was patronizing, but only lovingly so.

"What of you?" Hans asked, settling in his arms. "Will you miss Arendelle?"

"Oh, yes, I suppose," Edvard said thoughtfully. "I am familiar with being alienated from the kingdom, however. I left home to travel when I was young, just as you did, and then I spent the rest of my years up in my castle in the mountains. I never thought that I would leave again, but then, I never expected to have a reason to."

"And I'm your reason, am I?" Hans kissed the man's neck, just above the collar of his jacket. "You would give up your home and family, for me? For the usurper?"

"I will be able to visit my kingdom now and again," Edvard said. "Once you can be trusted to be left on your own."

"I may run away."

"To go where?" Edvard reminded him. "No ship will let you on board."

"I may stow away on your ship."

"And I may have to stow you in a cage after all," Edvard said. "That was where I found you, after all, chained in the ship's prison. I'll never forget what a mess you were, and so furious! The look in your eyes might have frightened another man. I thought only that you were quite attractive, if smaller than I expected."

"Smaller!"

"They made you sound such a monster in Arendelle," Edvard said. "I expected a man more akin to your brother, Gunnar, but you were slim and cute and so very young. I thought it was incredible that such a boy had caused all that trouble."

"I am _not_ a boy."

"Yet there you were, Prince Hans of the Isles, usurper," Edvard said with a laugh. "There you were, an enemy of mine, and I could not even hate you."

"I hated you," Hans informed him. "I hated everything and everyone of Arendelle. Other than that, I only thought you were … pale. There was nothing of color about you, you looked to be made of ice."

Edvard lifted two fingers and let snowflakes dance from them. Hans watched with a child's fascination, and then a spark of ambition ruined the innocence. Edvard knew that Hans intended to manipulate him into using his powers for some purpose. He would have to be very careful of them around Hans. Hans met his eyes, read the look, and smirked. His tongue darted out and he licked the snowflakes from Edvard's fingers.

"The magic of Arendelle," Hans murmured. He took Edvard's hand into his own, studying it. "Where does it come from?"

"Who knows?" Edvard said. "A deal with a dark one? An ancient curse? A certain strand of our bloodline? The history has been lost, or hidden."

"I would give anything to have such power," Hans said. "I would fly on a dragon made of ice, and bury my damned family in the snow."

"Enough of that," Edvard said, "or I'll let you sit the ride out on your own."

Hans sighed, leaning his head on the man's shoulder. The cold went and the warmth returned. Hans kissed Edvard's knuckles and held his long thick hand in both his own. They had left at the crack of dawn, and now he dozed sleepily.

 _I am turning my back on much to be with him,_ Edvard thought. He drew the carriage's curtains open some, gazing out at the forest they were riding through. _But then, I always did love the Isles._

* * *

Hans was pleased to find that the castle was a stately gray presence, set on a tall hill behind the forest. The isolation was a relief, given that the youth was still too shamed to be seen publicly. Servants were already employed, and the castle's fires were lit. They had food and drink waiting in the dining hall, so Hans headed there first. Edvard followed, and they took the midday meal together.

"This will not be so awful," Hans said, standing to finish the last of his food. He rubbed his bottom briefly, wincing. "The castle is satisfactory, and it's quiet. I could use some quiet after everything."

"And how long until you're bored with the quiet?"

Hans swallowed wine, then walked over to Edvard at the head of the table. He bent over the table to bring their faces level. He kissed Edvard, the taste of wine still on his lips, and ruffled a hand through his silken platinum hair.

"Oh, how could I be bored with you?"

"You know I hate it when you try to charm me."

"Would I lie to you?"

Hans kissed him, cutting of Edvard's attempted retort. He did not give Edvard a chance to speak again, unlacing his breeches and kneeling in front of him beneath the table. Edvard stopped Hans for a moment by gripping his hair lightly, and turned his face up to his own.

"Do you want this, Hans?" Edvard asked. "I will send you home if you would rather return there."

"And suffer another carriage ride?" Hans shuddered. "No, Prince Edvard, I am happy enough where I am. Generous of you to offer, though. It must have taken a lot to do so when you have a handsome young man between your legs."

"Not very modest, are you?"

"You forget, Edvard," Hans grinned. "I am a villain."

 _I will have to remember it,_ Edvard thought. Then Hans's hands were upon him, and his mouth. Edvard did not think anything clearly until some time later.

* * *

That night, Edvard awoke from a light sleep to find his bed empty. He slipped out of bed, put on a dressing gown, and went to the balcony. Hans stood there in his night dress, staring at the stars. The only sound was the soft rush of the wind blowing through the trees below. Edvard put a hand on the other prince's shoulder.

"Homesick already?"

"Oh, _no_ ," Hans said. "No, I don't miss it. I'm only thinking of … well, of what is to become of me. I thought that I would win a kingdom-"

"Steal one, more like."

"-and rule, and that would be all," Hans said. "I never wanted a fairy tale, I only wanted power. The power would bring everything else, I thought: love, fame, fortune, freedom. I thought that the Southern Isles would finally cheer me, remember _my_ name above all my brothers'."

"Well, your happily ever after-" Edvard swatted him lightly. "-turned out a tad differently, in the end."

"I should be miserable," Hans said. "I should be furious. I should hate you, hate everything and everyone, even myself. I did at first, but now, here, with you … I'm only numb to it. I still have ambitions, I still have plans, but right now, I'm happy to simply be here."

Edvard looked to see if he was leading him on, but Hans seemed sincere. He was hugging himself, the thin night dress showing the slim lines of his fine young body, and he looked several years younger. _He says he has plans, however,_ Edvard noted, watching Hans. _What plans, Hans? What ambitions?_

Hans turned on him with a fierce look suddenly. He kissed Edvard for a long time. His green eyes were intense when he pulled away, the expression much like the one he wore when he was in chains on the ship.

"You will be good to me, won't you, Prince Edvard?" he demanded to know. "I want you to promise me one thing."

"Of course I'll be good to you," Edvard assured him. "What is it that you want me to promise?"

"Promise me that you will never use your powers against me again," Hans said. "You frightened me half to death on the ship, but we were not lovers then. We are now, and so you must promise me this."

"I did not like using my powers on you even then," Edvard told him. "You _were_ trying to knife me in the back at the time."

"Will you promise me this?"

Edvard hesitated. Hans was not the bravest boy when it came to punishment, and so spankings should suffice to control him. Nonetheless, the threat of Edvard's powers was the most effective rod, and giving it up would be a sacrifice.

"I promise, Hans," Edvard found himself saying. "I will not use my powers against you."

Hans smiled broadly, triumphantly. Edvard felt that he had lost some important little struggle, but was loath to ruin the night over it. Hans put his arms around his neck and kissed him. Edvard knew that there would be much more to come on the horizon of the future, but for this moment, anyway …

 _ **They Lived Happily Ever After**_


End file.
